


Trenton Academy

by GrimlyFiendish



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First work - Freeform, M/M, What the fuck do I do, im so sorry, this is going to update like never
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-09
Updated: 2018-03-09
Packaged: 2019-03-28 21:07:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13912242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrimlyFiendish/pseuds/GrimlyFiendish
Summary: John Watson, an ordinary boy from a council flat, gets a sports scholarship to the prestigious Trenton Academy. His roommates, however, are something else...





	Trenton Academy

**Author's Note:**

> Yay, first work! Read it to give me confidence pls. Probs not too good, constructive criticism always welcome!  
> ——————————  
> JUST EDITED CHAPTER ONE TO MAKE IT EASIER TO READ!  
> Thanks to Reader23 and GrimlyFiendish for the suggestions. <3

John stared at the map of Trenton Academy. He looked around at the cars dropping off the other kids. Mercedes-Benz, Porsche, Jaguar, Bentley. Expensive, black, sleek machines. Uniformed chauffeurs, wearing white gloves. He looked at his big sister, Harry, with her leopard print leggings and a ratty shirt, in a beat-up Ford Fiesta. Their multiple piece designer luggage; Chanel, Kate Spade, Ralph Lauren. He had his dad’s old army duffel. They had posh, tailored clothes. He had grass-stained jeans and a knitted jumper. It was clear he didn’t belong. But John had earned his place at the school: he didn’t care if it was a football scholarship. He was going to Trenton and becoming a doctor, posh snobs be damned. He screwed up his courage, hugged Harry goodbye, and set off to find his room.  
Trenton had their students boarding in what were practically houses; kitchenette, bathrooms, living rooms, the whole lot. It was four to a almost-house. He knew what number his assigned almost-house was, but had no idea how to get there. He was puzzling through the map when another boy took pity on him.  
“You look lost.”  
“Oh, er, yeah. I guess I am. I’m John. John Watson.”  
“Ah, the new scholarship student. I am Michael Stamford. I can help you find where you’re going.”  
“That’s nice of you, thanks. I can’t make heads or tails of this bloody map.”  
Michael grinned.  
“I’ll admit, it is a bit puzzling, at first. Which lodge are you assigned to?”  
God, the blighters even talked posh.  
“Er, lodge 221, in section B.”  
“Oh.”  
John didn’t like the sound of that ‘oh’. It was drawn out and pitying.  
“What’sat supposed to mean?”  
“You are lodging with Sherlock Holmes and James Moriarty. Every single lodgemate they have had requested a boarding change within a fortnight.”  
John snorted. Posh blokes; made out of spun glass they were. John Watson, on the other hand, was made out of slightly tougher stuff.  
“Mate, at my old flat, the bird above us was a hooker, and the blokes below us were addicts that shot up and broke shit every night. I can handle a few schoolboys,” he said derisively.  
Michael was taken aback by the blunt, explicit description. He pointed John in the right direction, and gave him a few rudimentary descriptions. John managed to find lodge 221 in under a half hour, which John took as an accomplishment, as the campus was bloody huge. They had a golf course! With peacocks! A school didn’t need a golf course!  
Pushing the door open, John was greeted with a curly-haired boy in safety goggles and latex gloves performing unmentionable things to a dead frog. He was muttering something about doing the same experiment on a human corpse. Another boy in a black suit stalked in.  
“I don’t care if you don’t have the proper resources! Take out his kneecaps, then he’ll talk. Yes, a sledgehammer, a crowbar, use anything. Get the information, or face the consequences,” he yelled into his phone  
The door slammed shut behind John, and the sound had the other boys’ attention snap straight to him. John gulped.  
“Hi. I’m John Watson, your new roommate, I guess,” he offered  
The two boys stared at him for a beat. Then, the one in the suit groaned.  
“Oh GOD. He’s… plebeian! Ugh, poor people germs…” he lamented theatrically.  
John gaped at him. Seriously? He came from an inner-city school, not a leper colony.  
John, less sensitive than most, decided that, rather than getting offended, he would give as good as he got.  
“I’m terribly sorry for contaminating your living space with my animalistic commoner self. To spare you further exposure time, I will immediately remove myself from your majestic presence, my lord.” John simpered.  
The suited boy scowled angrily at him.  
“Sherlock, I don’t like it. It’s mean,” he whined petulantly to the other boy. The boy with the curls, Sherlock, snorted.  
“At least he’ll be more useful than you. I can train him to fetch things for me; run errands and the like. He doesn’t seem too dimwitted to understand basic vocabulary. Are you?” Sherlock asked condescendingly.  
John cocked his head like a spaniel, and did his best puppy-dog eyes.  
“Of course not. I’ll do my best to satisfy you in every way…” his eyes glinted mischievously. “Master.”  
Sherlock gulped, eyes widening and cheeks going red. He ducked his head. The other one, who must be James, glared again.  
“You disgusting fool. Like Sherlock would ever allow a filthy peasant to paw at him,” James snarled.  
Sherlock, who seemed to have mostly recovered, added his own piece.  
“You should be so lucky as to view our aristocratic beauty through a pair of rusty binoculars,” he informed John snootily.  
John held the boys’ hard glare. The two-against-one forceful staring contested lasted fifteen seconds before John burst out laughing. The other teens shared a confused look.  
“Ah, fantastic!” John exclaimed.  
“What is?” The dynamic duo spoke in unison.  
“You are! I thought I’d get lumped in with some boring posh lads, but you two. You two are brilliant! That was the best banter I’ve had in months. Bloody glad I got roomed with you lot; you are a riot. I’ll be in my room, unpacking. See you,” John said, happily.  
He strolled off, humming gaily. The two boys stared after him.  
Jim quietly cancelled the hit he had put out on John H. Watson. Sherlock tried to rid his brain of images of John H. Watson in a collar, but his brain didn’t quite want to let those images go. Jim was also thinking about a certain blond in a snug leather collar. He had always wanted a pet…


End file.
